


> deconstruct heroine

by Triskaidekalogue



Series: HSO 2011 ficbits [11]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ancestors, F/F, Moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-20
Updated: 2011-10-20
Packaged: 2017-10-24 19:32:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/267051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triskaidekalogue/pseuds/Triskaidekalogue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Redglare has always admired the Signless' mysterious <i>eminence grise</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	> deconstruct heroine

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [lj user myerfly's soundtrack](http://hs-olympics.livejournal.com/9563.html?thread=1458523#t1458523) in HSO Bonus Round 2B.

"Mother." Your son and his guest stand in the threshold, rain pouring from their oiled cloaks. "This is Neophyte Redglare. The inside agent who passed us the information about the portside crackdown two perigees ago."

"No names," Redglare interjects. "As far as His Honorable Tyranny is concerned, I'm off pursuing a group of draft dodgers. Menial work the others won't bother their heads about. My partner will give chase, but at the Signless' insistence, she'll allow them to escape."

"You have saved many lives," you say. You examine the legislacerator critically. Younger than you'd expected -- perhaps four or five sweeps older than your son, accounting for blood -- and not a soft feature in sight. Good. You preach peace and love, but the world you move through is one of strife and malice. Spying's not a job you'd wish on anyone who still has softness left to be torn away. "Come, take off your cloaks. Sit."

"I can't stay, mother," your son says, regretful. "With the weather like it is, half the tunnel routes will be flooded. Me and Keenclaw will have to travel through the day to make our appointment with the potential convert we talked about."

It's not the first time this has happened. You point to the refectory block, where leftovers from the midnight meal are already wrapped up for travel. "Take them to eat on the way. And don't forget -- "

" -- dry provisions in the big chest, I know." He sheds his cloak to fetch the food, and kisses your cheek on his way back out. "See you in two days." Then you and Redglare are alone in the little hive.

It's Redglare who breaks the silence. "You're shorter than I expected," she says.

You give a startled laugh. Blunt, this one, in personality if nothing else. "I didn't know I figured so prominently in the stories."

"You don't." Redglare looks at you over the top of her colored lenses, piercing, and for a moment the you imagine this is how one of her captives must feel. "There are stories behind stories, and yours is one of them. I worked through the chronologies. There are conflicting accounts, of course, but the most reliable of them agree on enough that I've been able to work out a rough timeline. You were very young when you absconded from the brooding caverns, and still young when the Signless began his ministry. As far as I can tell, it was your hand that kept it all together in the early sweeps. Despite your unusual blood color and lack of psychic ability, you've consistently managed to elude even temporary capture. Rumors say you can even walk in the sun, thanks to that blood --

" -- so yes, I expected someone taller. Not," she adds, "that I'm disappointed. Far from it." And she flashes a grin that shows off every single one of her perfect pointed teeth.

"I'm just a person," you say helplessly. "An ordinary person with doubts and flaws aplenty, like all the rest of us, though Gl'bgolyb help you if you suggest as much to my son or his first disciple. _Their_ faith is unshakeable. Stronger than mine."

The stare that Redglare fixes you with is at once sharp and pitying. "There's something else troubling you. I'll understand if you don't want a high-risk operative to have access to sensitive information, of course."

You shake your head. "No, it's nothing like that." You would be wise to stop talking right now, but there's something beyond legislaceratorial scrutiny that makes you want to keep going. The pressure of pent up dread, perhaps, faced with the cool sympathy of this almost-stranger. It spills out of you in a rush of words: "I dream of his death, Redglare, do you understand? Can you?"

She sits and listens as you pour out your unsoporable horrors, one after another. When the torrent slows she reaches over and squeezes your hand in hers. Her fingers are bony and her nails filed down to talons, but there's a gentleness in her fierce face that makes up for it.

"I can't pretend to feel what you feel for the Signless," she says in a low voice, "for all that his death would devastate me and many. I promise you, though, no matter what happens, we'll keep his words alive. And" -- she brings her other hand up to your face, bold as brass -- "I'll gladly wick away your doubts, when you wish. My lady."

Your breath catches in your throat. How thoughtless would it be to so intimately trust this young troll, this strange and dangerous woman who knows your life inside and out?

You meet her level red-tinted gaze, and you feel securer than you have in sweeps.


End file.
